


red and blue

by shakeit_dontbreakit



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of blood, fear/comfort is more accurate, renmin, sweet beans that like each other a whole hell of a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-14 16:39:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18951931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakeit_dontbreakit/pseuds/shakeit_dontbreakit
Summary: Jaemin leaves Renjun's apartment and in the next heartbeat there are four cop cars outside, blood on the sidewalk, andwhy isn't Jaemin picking up his phone?





	red and blue

It’s about a quarter after midnight and there’s just too much toothpaste in Renjun’s mouth so he spits and waters down the brush a bit before going back at it. He cannot believe he just fell asleep on his boyfriend’s shoulder, especially after being the one adamant that he not spend the night because they both had early morning commitments.

Boyfriend, huh. It’s new, still pretty early stages but that is indeed what they are. They’re moving slow but they’re slow-moving _boyfriends_. Labeled and everything. Renjun shakes his head and spits out the rest of the toothpaste before rinsing out his mouth a bit aggressively. He’s never let someone in this quickly or deeply but there’s also never been anyone more worthy in his entire life—someone who Renjun is _also_ worthy of. The thought is rather foreign to him but the sudden bubbles in his gut at the passing thought of Jaemin's wide grin assure him that this between them is real and worthwhile.

Renjun takes himself through his night skincare routine, thinking about things like vulnerability and partnership when he notices the dull flashes of red and blue on the wall outside his bathroom. Frowning, he rubs the last of his lotion into his cheeks before shutting off his bathroom light and venturing into the hallway, taking steady, quiet steps closer to the alternating red and blue illuminating his apartment brightly now that the bathroom is dark.

Lights but no sirens—none that he heard, anyway. Immediately curious, Renjun pads into his dark living room and peers out one of the windows of his third-floor apartment but finds the viewing angle too awkward to catch whatever is going on and finds another window, sliding it open quietly. He’d never call himself nosy, per se, but it’s pretty rare to have police cars parked and lit in this neighborhood at all, let alone practically surrounding his building. Even if the lights weren’t completely distracting (which they are) sleep never comes easily to him when there are questions to be answered.

Renjun has seen the crabapple blossoms outside his apartment in many lights—pallid in the wan silver of dawn, charged by the scorch of noon, through the gold of sunset and even the washed-out glow of dirty street lights. He’s seen the same flowers illuminated at each stage of the day, but he’s never witnessed them blinking red and blue like this. The humid night smells as sweet as ever, absurdly incongruous with the pool of blood on the sidewalk in front of his building.

Wait. What?

Hand flying over his mouth with a small gasp, Renjun’s brain finally registers what he’s looking at. It’s not just a pool, it’s a puddle with a stretch of crimson so cruelly, awfully similar to the stroke of a wide paint brush dragging off the sidewalk and over the boulevard. He can’t see the deep red of trailing blood on the grass from his third-floor window but he can see its reflection, a sheen alternating red and blue. Red and blue, like the blooming trees. Red and blue, leading to an empty parking space.

In what feels like a single moment Renjun is out of his apartment and down one flight of stairs, down to the second floor so he can press his nose up against the screen of the open stairwell window. Now closer to the scene, he can hear the static and mutterings of walkie-talkies and the police sending their codes and reports back and forth. Four police cars. Four. Still, Renjun can’t make out anything they’re saying and has half a mind to pop out the screen of the window and stick his whole head—his whole torso—out the window to get closer, to glean more.

The air is sweet with crabapple, hinted with the lilac that still has at least a fortnight left of its annual splendor but the familiar air of spring midnight does nothing to slow his thundering heartbeat. Forensics is on the scene now, snapping tight blue gloves over their hands, crouching around the red puddle, around the drag marks. Two of the police cars have ceased their silent red and blue vigil, the middle two, the ones closest to the scene of the… what even happened here?

In another moment Renjun is on the first floor, barefoot, hovering at the wide front door with his forehead pressed against the cool window. His breath fogs the glass before his eyes so he holds it and in the time it takes for his lungs to scream he learns nothing about what has happened. Luckily Renjun isn’t the only nosy neighbor, he can see the telltale red spots of lit cigarettes and blue glow of phones belonging to the neighbors across the street, standing their curious sentinel over the scene.

Renjun slips out the front door and crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against the wall, straining all his senses to pick up more more more. He vaguely feels his heartbeat from the outside of his chest but inside everything is quickly freezing, numbing.

The audience grows as more people gather around the peripheries of the scene—the _crime_ scene—some under the guise of a midnight smoke, others blatant in their interest without the means or desire to disguise it. The cops are aware of the spectators but not wary, and if Renjun’s brain was actually functioning he’d realize that indicates that they sense no threat in the vicinity. He’s okay, he’s safe, and his senses feed him why that’s the case but those observations are wholly buried under a simple question looping around his mind.

_Where is Jaemin?_

But the question isn’t in his brain, is it? All his numb observations are being processed in his mind but that’s not the thing that drags him back into his building. His brain isn’t what sends his legs pumping up three sets of stairs, stumbling loudly, stubbing his toe on the top stair before flying into his dark apartment.

_Where is Jaemin?_

The question comes from somewhere deeper than his mind. It comes from the place that seizes when he takes in the coffee table illuminated red, blue, red, one of Jaemin’s heavy computer science textbooks just lying there. The book is still open next to jjajangmyeon leftovers and empty beer cans Renjun hasn’t bothered to clean up yet. The throw blanket they shared is still a mess on the couch, the spot where they had been cuddling still obvious in the folds.

_Where the fuck is Jaemin?_

“Phone…” Renjun mutters aloud despite being alone, gaining little control over himself with the utterance save for a bit of direction. He needs to text Jaemin and receive a predictably sweet and emoji-heavy response within a minute—Jaemin is probably fine, people don’t just get abducted or killed in this neighborhood. That’s insane.

But the alternating red and blue flashing into his apartment screams, _yes, this kind of thing does happen_. It did happen. In the space of time when Jaemin left his apartment for the night, someone was stabbed—because Renjun would have heard a gunshot right? _Right?_ —and abducted right in front of his apartment.

Tonight he and Jaemin studied together and eventually got takeout and beer and made out a bit while watching a deep-sea documentary. The relationship is new but honest, as genuine and caring as Jaemin himself. Jaemin was even responsible enough to gently poke and prod and kiss Renjun awake when the documentary ended, fondly teasing, _“looks like I’ll have to kick myself out, eh, Injun?”_

Nausea strikes hard and fast because Renjun almost asked him to stay. Renjun almost saved his life—no, nope. That’s irrational, all of this is. He just needs to find his phone and ascertain his boyfriend’s whereabouts without seeming too needy or, well, as batshit as he feels right now. Where’s his _fucking phone_.

_Where is Jaemin?_

He slaps his living room light on harshly and after a long, scared look, eventually locates his phone, forgotten in the folds of the blanket they shared less than a quarter of an hour ago. Renjun could probably still smell Jaemin in the fabric if he had a mind to, but right now his mind is on hold while his heart beats quick and painful in his chest. His hand shakes as he unlocks it after three tries, selecting the contact: _nananananana._ It takes him less than a moment to decide to call him instead, to get a more immediate reply than a message because it’s important that Renjun knows he’s okay and not dead or bleeding in the trunk of someone’s car.

 _Jaemin_ is important.

Which is why Renjun stops breathing when the call goes to voicemail.

And then again.

He tries Facetime and gets nothing. He texts a flustered,  _let me know you’re okay?_ before calling again and leaving a voicemail with the same message and some babbles about red and blue and,  _“blood_ _there’s a lot of blood where are you, you piece of shit?”_

Jaemin has always let Renjun take the lead in their relationship, even from the very beginning of their courtship. He has more relationship experience than Renjun but still always encourages him to set the tone, set the pace; chart their course in whichever direction he feels comfortable with. Further than that, whenever Renjun finds himself at a loss of where to go with them Jaemin is ready with sweet, gentle suggestions. _“Would you like to try this?”_ and _“here’s a thought...”_ and other ideas, always multiple options, always giving him some sort of out.

And the more Renjun grows comfortable with him, the fewer outs he seeks. Kicking him out tonight (or, rather, Jaemin kicking himself out) had been sheer pragmatism on Renjun’s part and even Jaemin agreed that it wasn’t a good night to stay over. But he wanted him to stay, to fall back asleep in the most comfortable embrace that he’s ever allowed himself to discover.

Without realizing it, Renjun has been pacing around his apartment since he got the phone in his hands, trying to burn off some of the adrenaline brought upon by his mounting terror. The ‘ _where is Jaemin?’_ loop around his heart has changed, now trading off between _‘he’s fucking dead’_ and _‘there’s no way anything could have happened to him’._

Alternating red and blue.

He’s about to try one more time when his screen lights up with the familiar _nananananana_ and the accompanying contact picture of Jaemin with two chopsticks in his mouth like walrus teeth. Shocked to his core, it takes Renjun two rings for his system to reboot and another one for him to accept the call, bringing the phone to his ear with a shaky breath.

 _“Missing me already?”_ Jaemin cooes in exact unison with Renjun spilling, “Y-you’re okay?”

There’s a pause and Renjun can easily envision Jaemin’s flirty grin shifting immediately into brow-furrowed concern. _“Yeah, I’m okay…? Sorry I missed your calls, I was biking and I left my airpods at your place so I couldn’t pick up on the way.”_

“Ah…” Renjun mutters shyly, noticing that Jaemin did indeed leave his airpods on his living room table. “I… forgot you biked, sorry.”

Wow. He really did forget he biked over. Honestly, if he had recalled that during his maelstrom of panic he could have ascertained that Jaemin’s bike wasn’t still locked to the streetlight outside of his apartment. He might have realized he was more likely safe than not, already pedaling his way across town to his place. Jesus fuck. Renjun really freaked out, didn’t he?

 _“Are you okay? I mean… ah, well? Outside of tonight, I don’t think you’ve called me this many times, you know, since we’ve met. You’re okay, right?”_ He questions soothingly.

“Did you listen to my voicemail?” Renjun asks, hand over his heart, checking to make sure it’s slowing the hell down.

_“No, just checked the messages, saw how many times you called… what’s going on, love?”_

False alarm. It was all a false fucking alarm. Renjun just aged ten years and it’s all Jaemin’s fault for being kind and lovely and apparently _very_ important to him. “P-police cars showed up right after you left and there’s this puddle of blood with a drag mark and I just—”

_“WHAT.”_

“—I mean there are forensics and everything and it looks like someone got stabbed and then, I don’t know, dead or alive they were dragged into a car that isn’t there anymore and—”

_“Hey—”_

“—I just… needed to make sure that it wasn’t _you_ who was abducted or murdered so I kind of called a thousand times—”

 _“HUANG INJUN.”_ Jaemin snaps sharply, breaking Renjun’s embarrassed anxiety rant. _“You’re okay. I’m okay, so you’re okay. Actually, fuck no, you’re definitely not okay because someone got TAKEN outside your door...”_

“... it wasn’t you though, so. I’m cool. I'm good."

Jaemin sighs over the line and Renjun imagines him with his forefingers to his temples in quiet stress. _“I’m not even halfway home, can I come back over?”_

A pause. A breath. Jaemin gives him time to think it over but Renjun doesn’t need it. “Please.” 

_“Be there in ten. Less. I’ll fly back. I’ll fucking teleport.”_

“As if you weren’t already riding back before I asked...” Renjun mutters with the tiniest grin as he sits down cross-legged right in the middle of his living room to gather his marbles again.

Jaemin laughs without humor, _“Unapologetically guilty. But I’ll get there faster if I’m not holding a phone to my ear. I’ll be there soon, yeah?”_

Renjun nods, wondering if Jaemin knows he did. Probably. “The door codes are—”

_“Building code: 8562. Apartment code: 1945, the year the first Moomins book was published.”_

Holy shit. “I never told you that…” Renjun actually laughs.

 _“Figured it out. You underestimate my investigation skills, Junnie.”_ Jaemin chuckles before dropping his tone. _“But yeah, I’m going to end the call now and bike back with the vigor of a berserker. I’ll be in your arms before you know it.”_

“Gross.” Renjun grins despite himself. Jaemin can probably hear the smile in his voice and that doesn’t actually bother him because he’s _alive_.

 _“I mean it, love. Wait for me.”_ Jaemin hangs up with a small growl and Renjun lets out a huge breath. His heart rate has fallen back to normal levels and despite the acidic taste of utter embarrassment in his mouth, the assurance and weight of Jaemin’s words and safety and prompt return all fall over Renjun like a warm blanket. Like the blanket they shared.

Eventually he manages to get to his feet and has only just slipped the leftovers in his fridge and recycled the beer cans when he hears heavy footfalls ascend the stairs followed by four quick, confident beeps of the keycode being plugged in correctly. Renjun is barely out of the kitchen when suddenly Jaemin is there, out of breath and in his face, his bike helmet unfastened but still on his head.

He doesn’t hug Renjun, doesn’t completely glomp him against a wall like he clearly wants to because despite Jaemin’s frazzled state he will always respect his boundaries—boundaries that Renjun redraws immediately by pulling Jaemin closer by his belt loops and settling his small hands on his hips, looking up at him and pressing himself flush against him. 

“Holy s—h-hi. Hello.” Jaemin uncharacteristically stumbles through his words, which makes sense because this is uncharacteristic of Renjun but in no way disingenuine.

He needs Jaemin to know that so he whispers, “Thank you for not being dead.”

Jaemin stifles his own laugh by pressing a kiss to Renjun’s forehead before burrowing his nose in his hair and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “Not dead. Very not dead.”

Humming into his collarbones, Renjun lets himself melt into Jaemin and says nothing more.

“Now that I know you care this much for me I can’t _possibly_ die.” Jaemin keeps talking, rocking them gently side to side, kissing his hair.

Renjun laughs and wraps his hands around Jaemin’s waist. “I do. I _do._ Did you not… think so?”

“No, no, of course I did. I know you care, I just…” Jaemin squeezes once before his hands find Renjun’s shoulders and he holds him at arms length, leaning down slightly to be at eye level. “It’s just nice to see it…? I mean, it’s good to hear in words. Fuck, not just good, more like transcendent.”

Furrowing his brow, Renjun opens his mouth to speak but Jaemin brings him in for another embrace, this one tighter, his arms secure around Renjun’s back as he continues. “I just like you so much and I’m kind of a little terrified that there’s a whole _crime scene_ outside your door, like, what the fuck?”

“You didn’t need to rush back here to protect me…” Renjun mutters despite, you know, asking him to do so.

Jaemin surprises him with a little laugh, lowering his arms to surround him securely just above the waist, mirroring Renjun’s embrace. “Protect _you?_ No way, sir, I’m here so you can protect _me._ ”

He’s a great actor but Renjun can spot the sweet little lie. “Uh huh. _Sure._ ”

“Of course.” Jaemin grins, “There I was, biking the dark streets in the vicinity of a potential murderer… I _had_ to get back into the arms of the biggest badass in town.”

Renjun rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. “Stop before you hurt yourself.”

“I mean it, love.” Jaemin kisses his forehead, “This is the safest place I could possibly be.”

His heart seizes again, but this time it’s not from fear. Renjun tilts his head up, catching Jaemin’s lips in a soft, long kiss before drawing a centimeter away and brushing their noses together.

“We.” Renjun breathes over Jaemin’s lips.

Jaemin steals another kiss before uttering a small _‘hm?’_ of confusion.

“This is the safest place _we_ could possibly be.”

With a tortured groan Jaemin disentangles himself from Renjun’s embrace and holds him at arm's length once again. “You can’t just drop all this sweetness on me, Injun, I’m about to actually die right here.”

“Thought you said you couldn’t die now that you know how much I care…” Renjun flutters his eyelashes, feeling bold and beloved as if he didn't just go through the scare of his life.

“You’re right, I’m definitely immortal now.” Jaemin laughs, running his hands down Renjun’s arms, squeezing around his wrists once before twisting their fingers together. “Safe and sound and wholly unkillable.”

Renjun takes one of his hands out of Jaemin’s and starts to pull him towards his room with the other. It is late after all, and they do have obligations in the morning. Jaemin pulls back against his tug the slightest bit but only to remove his biking helmet and toss it on the couch but it bounces right off and onto the wooden floor with a clatter. He opens his mouth to apologize but Renjun silences him with another kiss.

He cares about Jaemin, he cares a whole hell of a lot. Enough to have a conniption fit over the unlikely possibility that he was harmed, that he was killed, that he was suddenly taken from Renjun’s life. Still, he’s oddly comfortable with the fact that he reacted so strongly, that he cares more than he thought he did. That it's okay to care about someone this much.

It’s okay because Jaemin’s okay.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> appreciate renmin~
> 
>  
> 
> ([twitter](https://twitter.com/jenoscreamingo?lang=en))


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